Pegasus' Problems Pertaining to Pants
by Lone-ranger1
Summary: Sam's got a bone to pick with John, and she's done her research. What she doesn't expect is that John's ready to answer just as candidly... That is until Ronon shows up. Humor, fluff.


This was it, she had finally had enough. It was unbelievably annoying to keep reordering the one different type of BDU that the man wore and it always added _significantly_ to her paperwork. Despite looking good in it, she was more annoyed with the added work than pleased with the eye candy, though that wasn't that bad either. Now she was going to get answers.

He was sitting on the balcony in the Mess Hall, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. At least he was getting work done. Maybe, _just maybe_ if he was nice, polite, and provided a good explanation she would allow him to continue.

But yesterday had been the last straw. He had fallen into a muddy bog right out of the gate and completely ruined yet another set of BDU's. It wasn't enough that they were completely caked in mud and God knows how many different kinds of crap that was in that bog, but Ronon, upon pulling him out had shred it to pieces in trying to clean him up. The event had left the man with only one clean and unscathed Battle Dress Uniform.

She made it look like she was just going to sit down to have breakfast, a slice of toast and jam, a hard boiled egg, an orange and salad. Nothing much as she wasn't running around burning calories like she used to. In actuality, it was a struggle to not just sneak up behind him and dump it all in his lap, perhaps finally forcing him to wear the official Atlantis uniform.

Flowing gracefully around him without a word and he replied effortlessly by pretending not to notice her. Damn he was smooth, _too smooth._ Maybe Rodney was right and all the hair products had some kind of cumulative effect on his brain. She sat down and smiled sweetly. "John."

John didn't even look up, but his voice was very respectful. "Mornin', Sam. Nice to have company." He only ever called her Sam in private, and this secluded balcony table counted. Sam smirked lightly at the easy going team spirit they'd worked out, it reminded her of Cam.

Sam had assumed correctly he'd be unfazed and used her sweetest and most non-threatening voice, the one Jack and Daniel had quickly learned to pay attention to. "There's something we need to talk about…."

John put the tablet on the table. He'd been grading the martial arts classes he and Ronon were holding for the Marine contingent and was about halfway through when Sam arrived. He took a sip of his coffee and smiled directly at Sam. "Can't wait for the briefing?"

Sam kept the sweet singsongy tone. She wanted to nail him full force and needed to sneak the complaint in like a poisoned dagger. "Nope. This is something that's just between you and me." She'd played poker enough times to see his reactions. John's pupils dilated slightly, his breathing a little faster. He was obviously preparing to defend himself and his suave smile kept it well hidden.

He didn't disappoint. "Oh, well… shoot."

Sam took a deep breath in. This had to be carefully worded and incredibly gracious. She was letting loose an entire afternoon's worth of work in this semi-speech and needed to make sure he fully understood and perhaps even agreed. "Would you mind explaining why you refuse to wear the standard Atlantis uniform?

Sam paused for a second to both let it sink in, and for dramatic effect.

"I've had to order black Battle Dress Uniform's on the last four shipments from Earth and it adds about half an hour to my inventory team per person.

The proof was there, the numbers didn't lie. Sam's devious smile told John that she'd obviously prepared well for this encounter.

"I've done the calculations and it actually costs this expedition an extra thousand dollars on average per month to keep them either in stock, or reorder them when you ruin them offworld.

The main issue aside, she set herself up perfectly for the next rebuke. John seemed completely unsurprised to her curiosity.

"On that note, of the past 20 times you've gone out, eight times you've come back with either your shirt, or your pants in a state in which they no longer meet standard USAF regulations on cleanliness, color, odor, or amount of revealed skin.

As fit as John kept his body, Sam had had little or no desire to see his bare ass the week prior when his pants were completely ripped to shreds when he fell down a slope and his belt had gotten caught on a root. Although now that she had, Sam had to admit, the man could open a bakery with how fresh those buns were.

Sam was expecting John to interrupt, but he seemed oddly calm about the entire rebuke. She clasped her hands together in front of her to try and look a little more formal; this was _not_ a joke. "So in closing, I'm going to give you one chance to argue why I should continue ordering them."

Sam took a deep breath, and blatantly stole a bite of John's waffle. It'd been too easy to be John's friend till now and Sam needed to make sure he knew that she was the one wearing the pants around here… both metaphorically _and _ literally in this case.

John seemed completely unaffected and took another sip of his coffee. Once he finished swallowing, he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft and friendly. "Simple answer? They don't fit right. I get chafing and calluses in uhh… _tender areas_ if I wear those uniforms. Remember the first time we met in the SGC, you told us about the Stargate? Reason I was all fidgety is I had to keep in an uncomfortable position to keep from ripping the seams of those pants.

He kept his voice reasonable, in just a polite and diplomatic voice as Sam did. "I ran the numbers myself when Weir complained, and the thousand extra's nothin' compared to the two thousand plus it'd cost to get the proper size uniform custom made, given the way I go through 'em." John smiled, loving the slight and almost imperceptible shock that crept across Sam's facial features. He'd found that Sam highly enjoyed his sarcastic wit and loved it when she smiled.

Shrugging his shoulders, John got back to his breakfast. "I don't blame you for wondering why though. You're not the first to ask why the military commander of a base would wear a different uniform than the troops under him. And since we're on the topic, besides the fit, I think it makes me stand out better off-world if there's a clear line separating me, 'the leader', from the others." John used air quotes to emphasize his point.

Sam clenched her jsaw, a clear sign that she was struggling not to smirk. John had been expecting her to come to him about this eventually and had worked out his rebuttal just as much as she had worked on her complaint.

He pressed before Sam could answer. "And as far as my clothing in bad shape, all in the line of duty. Cam mentioned having the same conversation with General Landry when he couldn't keep his pants on no matter how hard he tried." Sam finally cracked, a stifled snort leaving her throat. John felt incredibly proud and took a deep breath. He stared at Sam and expected her reply. "So with that set straight, what's your decision?"

John had finished with a hopeful look, Sam couldn't help but think of puppies and a magic rainbow land. She nearly broke out into laughter but managed to stay in control

Sam took a few deep breaths, calming herself. She took a nice long sip of tea before finally speaking. "I can see you're adamant about this _and_ you've done your research. So I'll meet you halfway and keep ordering them, under the condition that you _take better care_ of them."

She smiled, and deep in her mind she was glad he was so meticulous. It made her more respectful of the man and his well built frame. The fact that he was willing to stand up to her on something he believed in was encouraging too. It'd all been too smooth since they seemed to think on the same wavelength and it was heartening to know that they could disagree in a mature and civilized way.

John made an indecisive shrug and took another sip of coffee. Unbeknownst to him, Ronon was walking up behind him carrying a tray in one hand. "I'd love to agree, but this galaxy has something against me wearing pants."

As if to prove his point, Ronon's free hand came down on his shoulder in greeting. " Sheppard." John jolted in surprise, and accidentally spilled his mug of hot coffee into his lap. He winced and groaned ever so slightly at the burning agony. Sam gasped as she covered her mouth in shock to keep her smile hidden. Doubling over a little, John's veins on his neck bulged as he grit his teeth and tried to give Ronon an irritated look.

Sam shook slightly as she stifled her snickers in her throat at the unlikely circumstances. Ronon raised his eyebrows even as he took a bite out of his 20 ingredient sandwich, sitting between the two commanders. "Uhh... sorry."

John's eyes were wide and his hands were shaking slightly as they curled into fists, baring the pain. His breath was unsteady and he shivered in repressed agony. John looked to Sam once the searing anguish was past and hoarsely whispered. "See what I mean?"


End file.
